


Taste of Shame

by Dontgotone



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Chastity Device, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Force-Feeding, Forced Orgasm, Group Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Physical Abuse, Prison Sex, Sexual Abuse, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontgotone/pseuds/Dontgotone
Summary: Overlord has taken over G9, and has decided to indulge in his hobby of breaking the pretty ones by lacing his interface arrays with circuit speeders and getting Fort Max addicted to the point of dependency.A scene of one of his visits to the ex-warden's cell, with some friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present that spawned from the incongruous idea of "I bet Overlord stuffs circuit speeders in his array so he can make his playthings physically addicted to sucking his cock". 
> 
> Please, make sure you've read the warnings because this has some heavy shit going on.  
> Watersports are of the "Force fed piss" category.

Fortress Maximus, once the warden in charge of this prison, was laying down in his cell, huddled up. The cell itself was plush and furnished compared to many others, the new bot in charge having decided that his 'favorite pet' deserved some pampering. Soft cushions littered the floor, warm blankets and various toys scattered without much care laying about everywhere. Now, however, the big bot felt the furthest from being pampered. He was shaking all over, craving something that shamed him just to think about it. His aft felt so wide and gaping. Just… Empty. The decepticons had gotten him so used to an ever increasing array of thick, heavy plugs that now when they left him empty it almost felt unnatural. Coupled with his cravings, his needs, the warden felt as if his processor was melting. He was going crazy. Even just thinking of relief had his cage aching. The metal bars kept his enclosed spike from pressurizing more than halfway, and the thick curved sound plugging it all the way from base to tip had him feeling like it was going to burst, all at once. 

It probably wouldn't be so bad if he could focus on one ache. On one thing that was driving him mad. But there was just so much. The cage. The sound. The plug (or lack thereof). The hunger from not being given any energon in days, clashing with the full tank from having his spike stuffed shut for just as long. And despite that a pair of his ex-prisoners had come to wash him up and check on his state, now was when the cravings were hitting him. The desire for that taste, that explosion of sensation. That numbing of his thoughts that were always followed by such a delightful sensory overload he felt like he was dying and being reborn again, each time. 

He was going to beg for it, he knew. This wasn't the first time they had him waiting like this, shaking, alone, waiting for his new Master to drop in. He'd come in, ask him how he was doing, and as much as Maximus tried, as much as he wanted to resist, just seeing the other bot would have his mouth watering. The sight, the smell of his prize, so close would rip desperate moans from his throat. All the other bot had to do to break him was stand and wait, and within minutes he'd be begging. Within minutes Fortress Maximus would be begging to let him taste his transfluid. To cover his tongue in it. To gag on its taste and texture and get his hit like the addict he'd become. 

Thinking about it only made the craving worse, and Fort Max keened a desperate whimper.

Knowing the horrible leader of the decepticon forces, this was all planned. Scripted. The second the noise escaped the ex-warden's lips, the door to his cell opened, and in stepped Overlord, smiling wide. 

Fortress Maximus tried to spit out an expletive, tried to tell the phase sixer to go get bent… But when he saw the other's eager grin, the way his face lit up when he moved to speak, all the fight left him. Overlord _wanted_ him to fight, just so he could punish him further, he was sure. And here, looking down, shaking with a need that only got worse the more the new Warden stepped closer, he couldn't bring himself to spring the trap, just to try and bring Overlord down a notch. The decepticon would likely leave without giving him his 'reward' and Max couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him at just the thought. 

By the time he looked back to Overlord, the phase sixer was looming over him, full lips pulled back in that savage rictus he called a smile. "Have you been a good boy, Pet?" he asked, and Fort Max bit his own lips to try and keep his mouth shut. He didn't even know if it was to stop himself from yelling expletives and threats, or if it was to prevent saying yes, but he didn't have to do it for long. Almost immediately, the decepticon's modesty plating slid back, the mostly pressurized spike springing out and almost hitting the ex- warden's face. The sack underneath looked bloated, thin meshing stretched to its limit. And as Overlord hummed softly, not even giving his favorite prisoner any orders, the ex-warden leaned in against those heavy orbs and took a deep breath. 

The reverence in the act must have seemed hilarious because all the guards present burst out laughing. And still, Fort Max couldn't pull away. He buried his face in the smooth mesh, clogging his senses with the scent and taste of Overlord's array. As had been happening more and more, his own array struggled against its prison, the attempts to pressurize painful and distracting. But this embarrassing devotion he was showing, the desperate licking, the attempts to put one or both of the massive orbs in his mouth, it was all worth it. The more he took in the maddening scent, the more the shaking slipped away. The more that need inside of him, that aching desire, started building a charge in his spark instead of eating away at him and making him wish he was being shot. 

"Eager, aren't you Pet?"

He could feel the weight of the thick shaft against his head, could feel it's warmth and even the tingle of the other's charge starting to build. But he dared not stop to answer. If he did, Overlord might deign to play a game before giving him his prize, and he wasn't sure his sanity would survive that. Instead, he tilted his head back, letting the fat spike rest against his nose, his mouth. He dragged his tongue up from the fist-sized, swollen orbs, pressing it up against the warm club resting on his face. Slowly, he slid his way all the way to the end of it, leaving a clear trail of wet spittle that reached from base to tip and opened his mouth wide. 

The sooner he went through with this, the sooner he'd get that processor melting pleasure. That addicting rush that let all of the other things the other bot did fade away. That taste that was all consuming, that chased away the ache in his joints and the deepest fibers of his frame. But Overlord had other plans instead. He gripped his own shaft, pulling the heavy array up and tutting down at Max. 

"Oh no, Pet, not quite yet. Wait for everyone to get settled in."

The ex-Warden only barely registered the extra guards coming in carrying some sort of tank or barrel. He got up as high as he could on his knees, desperately keening as he attempted to get his mouth on the teasing shaft. He fully expected Overlord to hit him, to shove him away for disobeying… but he didn't. He gave an overly exasperated sigh, drawing chuckles from the gallery of guards, now closing in as a tight circle around them. 

"I suppose I'll be a nice Master tonight, and give you your treat without too much trouble."

The words burned at Fortress Maximus' core, stinging his spark, but it was all washed away when he felt his tongue pressed down by the weighty cylinder forcing its way into his mouth. The Autobot was eager to get his prize, but Overlord controlled the pace, one hand gripping the kneeling bot's helm and keeping it still while he slowly drove his hips in. Max couldn't do much more than gag and choke when the sadist's python of a spike reached the back of his throat, pressing hard against mesh and cables, scraping against the surface before it bent a bit downwards. 

It would have been supremely uncomfortable if Max hadn't been so eagerly swallowing down, every droplet that dribbled from the jaw achingly thick shaft making him shudder. It was almost the taste he needed. Almost the sensation he craved. His optics sparked and fizzed, the phase sixer's thrusting speeding up and becoming even harder to take without complaint.

By the time he felt the other bot's frame shudder and stiffen, the thick shaft in his mouth swell, Fort Max thought he'd offline from need. And then there it was. That flood. That thick, hard to swallow burst of flavor and sensation. The first blast hit the back of his throat hard and felt almost stuck there, like glue. Then the next burst coated his tongue, forcing some of the previous batch down his throat. The third filled what space was left in his mouth and then some, the thick cream dripping down his chin. 

But Fort Max didn't care. 

His optics were wide, and his whole frame was shaking. The moment the taste registered on his tongue, he began to hungrily drink and swallow and suck like a bot possessed. The more the heavy cream slid around and against his tongue, the more of the terrible heat spread through his frame. Every convulsing swallow of his throat, every eager lap of his tongue, it all led to lightning striking his spark. Each new taste was another explosion, and suddenly he was oh so very much more aware of his position. He could feel every grain of dust on the floor, every groove underneath his knees. The faintest twitch of his fingers felt divine, the movement of the air between them making him shiver. 

He couldn't focus his optics, swirls of color and blurred shapes dancing in front of him, and everything felt as if it was too vivid. Too real. The hand Overlord used to pet his helm, so heavy and solid. The words that were spoken, where all he understood was "Good Pet" and "Reward", soon followed by hands on his hips and his thighs. The ring of guards around them had closed, as usual, each of them grabbing for Fort Max. He wanted to fight them, but their caresses against his plating felt amazing. Someone was behind him, filling that aching void, stretching him out, and Max thought he would cry from how right it all felt. One by one, his body's cravings were being sated, those aches and pains being turned into glorious heat and pleasure. He even felt someone undo the lock on the sound keeping his spike stuffed, and the relief from his tanks as they emptied themselves on the floor was so heavy he wouldn't be surprised if he heard they'd stretched and bloated past their allotted space while he was stopped up. 

He thought he heard laughter, jeering, but just turning his head towards the source made the bot dizzy, it was as if he was underwater. Coupled with the good taste in his mouth and the jostling thrusting in his rear, his processor was too busy to react to every sensation. The bots standing around him had to steady him as he wobbled, Overlord's spike slipping from his mouth and replaced with a clear tube. Fortress Maximus tried biting down on it, keening in desperation at the loss of the thick, warm spike on his tongue. 

"Don't worry, Pet, it's just time for your feeding." 

Optics seeing too many colors, the warden tried to lift his gaze, following the length of the tube jammed in his mouth all the back to the big barrel tank that had been brought in. It was almost as big as one of the guards, and it had multiple socket looking holes around it. He groaned, seeing the grayish sludge crawling towards him through the tube. He recognized the tasteless prison slop they usually fed to prisoners, but he was more interested in what Overlord and the guards were doing. They were all standing next to the tank, doing… something. He couldn't see, couldn't focus. The pounding of his aft continued to jostle him, kept throwing him off whenever he tried to concentrate, but apparently, he didn't have to try and figure it all out. The bot who'd captured him was all too willing to gloat about it. 

"You've complained the paste was dry and tasteless, before, and it was hard to eat while being fucked… well, I've fixed all of that. Come on now, Boys." 

Even though he had a hard time focusing on , well, anything, even the regular slamming of heavy metal against his aft (was it still the same guard? Had they swapped? He felt sorta full in there…), even in his blissed and distracted state Fort Max couldn't miss the dozen sighs of relief that filled the room. Even Overlord seemed to relax, letting go a tension he'd carried all day. And then he saw the tasteless sludge push faster through the tube and he understood. It mixed in with the dark yellow waste liquid as it moved, becoming more of a slop by the time it flooded his mouth. 

As Overlord had promised, it certainly had a taste now, the acrid sensation of waste fluid on his tongue so strong it made his optics fritz and spark. He tried to open his mouth wider, to spit out the tube, but thick, strong fingers clamped over his mouth, keeping it mostly sealed against the tube even as the new grip was used as leverage for even deeper thrusting. He couldn't concentrate on the pain in his aft, or how it dulled to a heated glow thanks to whatever it was that Overlord had done to him. All his thoughts were on the flood pushing its way into his mouth, down his throat. He couldn't stop it, couldn't stop tasting it. 

He gagged and heaved against the onslaught, but there was no respite, and even as he felt his tanks filling up Fortress Maximus could feel his body getting _better_. The alarms and warnings of low energy that had been on so long he'd forgotten about them stopped. The emptiness in his belly was replaced with a warm, sloshing weight that shifted with each of his movements. And still more came. And the more he gargled and swallowed, the more he noticed how the tangy, bitter taste burned less and less. The more of it forced it's way down, the more he felt that soft, underwater sensation all around him. 

A hand found his spike and started pushing its plug back into it. Fort Max was horrified, but couldn't bring about the energy to do anything about it. Even his struggling with the sheer amount of food and waste pushing itself down his throat was getting more and more sluggish. And it was feeling _better_ too. His optics were unfocused, his spark felt like it would explode, and the taste in his mouth felt like it was being permanently burned into his glossa, but the heat inside him only continued to bloom. 

Even the rough fucking of his spike by way of the thick plug had him shaking all over, his array's charge building faster than he thought possible. He was surprised to find himself gulping down the excessive slop that didn't seem in any danger of slowing down, the burning, awful taste still just as bad but also quickly becoming something he couldn't get enough of. He could feel that his tanks were full, that his belly plating was stretching, but he couldn't stop himself. He just _had_ to have more and more. 

Someone patted his helm and he thought it was Overlord, but the mixes of colors and swirling shapes hurt his processor the more he kept his optics open, so he simply allowed them to close. He instead focused on the plugs being replaced in him, how good they felt, on the splashing liquids all around him, the bubbly noises that accompanied pools of warmth on his face, his groin, over his shoulders. Had they surrounded him again? 

Who cared?

Max was in a state of complete bliss, and really, nothing else mattered.


End file.
